Bowing Our Heads in the Wind
by Min Daae
Summary: The Queens of Gondolin; that was how they were known.


_Author's Notes: For the lovely kaywinnet, who requested the AU where Turgon dies and Aredhel and Elenwe rule Gondolin together (with Idril, of course). This is mostly about the former two, and I hope it satisfies. The world - and Tolkien fandom - needs more female friendships._

_I hope I got my details (and my Quenya!) right! With love, my dear, and a belated happy holiday._

* * *

There was no body to bury.

He was there, and then he was gone, vanished into the ice. Her father had stopped them for hours, screamed Turukáno's name into the white air with no response. Elenwë had not cried. _I am too cold to cry, _she said, as she held Aredhel close. She was brave and steadfast and strong, and Aredhel remembered with shame that she had once thought her weak.

"He didn't want to come," Aredhel said, in a small voice, their last night on the ice. "I talked him into it. I told him-"

"He would never have let his family go and stayed behind," Elenwë said, cutting her off. "Let him have his choices, _nésanya_."

It was only after, when they made camp at Hithlum, that she caught her sitting on the shores of the lake, tears rolling down her cheeks, her bare toes in the shallow water.

"He used to talk," she said. "When we first set out…he would talk about how he wanted to build a city in this land, this new-old place of our birth. He said he wanted it to be a haven. A reminder of what we'd left behind, and a realization of what we could still have. A city full of gardens and high walls. A home for the exiles."

Aredhel bit her lip and reached out to lay a hand on Elenwë's shoulder. "We will build it," she said. Elenwë turned her head, frowning, and Aredhel repeated herself. "We'll build his city," she said. "The two of us. Together."

~.~

They went back and forth for days on where the city ought to be located until Elenwë woke her up from a nap, her eyes wide. "I know where we have to go," she said, with sudden and fierce certainty. "I know – Ulmo showed me in a dream. There's a valley, to the north, hidden. We can go there and be _safe._"

Aredhel sat up slowly. "You – what?" she said, blankly.

"Ulmo," Elenwë repeated, her gaze almost feverish. "He came to me and told me-"

"I thought the Valar weren't listening to us," Aredhel said, more harshly than she meant to, and Elenwë jerked back, her expression hurt.

"Do you think I'm lying to you?"

"Of course not," Aredhel said quickly. "I just...are you sure it was Ulmo?" Elenwë just looked more hurt, and Aredhel bit her lip. "_Nésanya…_"

"Say it," Elenwe said, her eyes suddenly snapping. "You think I have been tricked by the Enemy. You think I do not know the difference between the whispers of a Vala and the whispers of-"

Aredhel reached for Elenwe as she pulled away and caught her wrist. "No," she said quickly. "No, I don't think that. It is only…" she trailed off. _If they are speaking to us now then why…_ She took a deep breath, raised her eyes, and spoke the bitter words in her heart. "The Valar could have saved Arakáno, and did not. They could have saved Turukáno. And they did not. My family-"

"Irissë," Elenwe said, her voice suddenly softer. Aredhel squeezed her eyes closed. "I know. Arakáno was my brother too. And Turvo…" She broke off, glancing away, and Aredhel winced, feeling suddenly hideously selfish.

"I know," she said, softly. "I know. But you're asking me to trust them, when they have declared us anathema. When they have-"

"If you can't trust them," Elenwe said, reaching out, her fingers cupping Aredhel's jaw gently, "then trust me. Please."

Aredhel looked into Elenwe's bright eyes, full of sorrow, full of hope, and released her wrist to cradle her face between her hands and bring their foreheads together. "I trust you," she said.

~.~

"Elenwe and I are leaving," Aredhel told Fingon. He looked exhausted and irritated, pushing a stray strand of hair out of his face that had escaped his braid.

"Now's not the time," Fingon said absently, and then seemed to hear her, his head snapping around. "Wait, what?"

"Elenwe, Itarildë and I are leaving," Aredhel repeated. "We are taking roughly one third of our people with us. There is a place to the north where we intend to found a city." Fingon stared at her, and she narrowed her eyes. "Is that a problem?"

"You can't," Fingon blurted out, and then shook himself. "I mean – Irisse, I need you here."

"To do what?" Aredhel asked. "You and _atar_ are entirely capable of keeping things under control without my help – if you would even let me help." She didn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice, and Fingon turned to her, eyebrows pulling together.

"That's not fair," he said. "I am hardly – _Irissë._" He gave her a pleading look, before which she stood impassive. "Don't you think this family's been pulled apart enough? I don't want you – gallivanting off just because you want to explore. This land is _dangerous _and I…" _You're the only sibling I have left, _his eyes said, and Aredhel felt a twinge.

"I am not 'gallivanting off' and if you think I would at a time like this you know me less well than I thought. Elenwe needs me."

"Needs you for what?" Fingon said, a little more sharply than she liked. "She should stay here, you both should stay here, it's _safer._"

Aredhel lifted her chin and looked at him with defiance. "We've a city to build, Findekáno. I've made up my mind and I've told _ata_ already. This isn't your chance to talk me out of it."

"A city?" Fingon sounded faintly incredulous. "Why would you-"

"It's what Turukáno wanted," she said, and watched it hit her brother like a punch to the gut, as she'd known it would. He almost flinched, and dropped his eyes, and when he looked back to her their grey depths were like open wounds.

"Irisse," he said, softly, not quite accusation.

"Let us go," she said, quietly. "There is a hidden valley to the north. We _will _be safe there. And it will be a haven. A home."

Fingon's expression twisted bitterly. "This land will _never _be home," he said. Aredhel offered her arms to him, and after a moment he caught her up in an embrace, tight and close. "You said Elenwe needed this," he said, muffled, into her shoulder. "And you, _nettincë_?"

"So do I," Aredhel said, and closed her eyes. "I need it too." She heard Fingon take a shuddering breath and said, quietly, "I'm not leaving you. If you need me…you know I will come."

~.~

Aredhel avoided Ulmo.

Elenwe spent much time with him as he aided them in their building, but Aredhel made every excuse to keep her distance. She could understand Elenwe's desire to cleave to the Vala, but some part of her resented it nonetheless. She tried to keep it well hidden, though, to work and help as she could while pretending she was unaware of his presence.

The Queens of Gondolin, they called them. The name made Aredhel laugh, sometimes, but only to herself. She wondered what Turukáno would think of that. Wondered what Turukáno would think of his wife, ruling a city. Just, fair, and beloved.

If any of the Noldor resented the lack of tradition in it, they held their tongues wisely.

She and Elenwe took their meals together, however, always. Idril was with them as well, frequently, but sometimes it was just the two of them.

"You shouldn't ignore him like this," she said, one evening, after Idril had gone to read. Aredhel paused in picking at her food and glanced across the table. Elenwe was looking at her directly, the candlelight casting flickering shadows over her face.

Aredhel made her expression innocent, a look she had learned from her cousins, long ago. "Who?"

Elenwe frowned at her. "You know who, Irisse. He is not your enemy."

"Nor is he my friend," Aredhel said, her voice sharpening. "Do not ask me to act otherwise."

Elenwe sighed. "It is not the fault of the Valar that we suffer. It _is _with their help that we are making a new life here. Would you spurn that?"

Aredhel scoffed. "Not the fault of the Valar. Perhaps not, but nor is it with their help. Do you think this lifts the curse they placed on us? _Tears unnumbered shall ye shed. _For aiding our family. For acting, when they did nothing."

Elenwe's lips pressed together in a line. "If Feanaro had just done as the Valar had asked-"

"Would that undo the murder of my grandfather?" Aredhel could hear her voice rise, and knew it was not Elenwe she was angry with, but could not hold back the anger nonetheless.

"It would have kept Turukáno from dying!" Elenwe said, her voice rising as well. Aredhel stood up, abandoning her plate.

"And will your precious Valar bring him back?" She demanded. "Can Ulmo, in all his might, do that? Or have you forgotten that if he is so powerful, he might have reached out to save _my brothers-_"

Elenwe's eyes snapped. "You have no right to act as though I care less than you. You _are _my family. Am I not here, with you? I left my kin behind _to follow you._"

"And do you regret that now?" Aredhel snapped, and Elenwe seemed, suddenly to calm.

"Who are you angry with, _meldonya_?" she asked, voice soft. "I do not think it is Ulmo. Or even the Valar." Aredhel looked away, nostrils flaring. "Are you angry with Turukáno?" She didn't answer. "I would understand. I am, sometimes. Or at yourself? You know better than most that Turvo always made his own choices."

"That is not…" Aredhel trailed off. She didn't _know. _Everything was just-

She remembered, in Valinor, listening to the speeches of her uncle. Everything had seemed so bright, then. A grand adventure. A great enterprise to be sung of. This land had been theirs once; why should they not take it back? She remembered the way Fingon's eyes had shone in the firelight, and the way Galadriel's had burned with a new, intense light.

"Are you angry with me?" Elenwe asked. Her voice was suddenly small. "That I…that I survived, and your brothers…"

"_No,_" Aredhel said, with vehemence, and didn't hold back the urge to rush around the table and seize Elenwe's shoulders, turn them to face each other. "Never. Is that what you think, do you think I would ever begrudge you-"

Elenwe's eyes were gentle, and sad. "I feared it," she confessed, and Aredhel flung her arms around her shoulders and embraced her, slender and warm.

"I know you find comfort in his presence," Aredhel said, after a long silence between them, but not a heavy one. "I cannot. Or – I do not. I am grateful for his help, but if I faced him…I fear what I would say."

"I understand," Elenwe said softly. Her hands moved, stroking between Aredhel's shoulder blades. "Or – I do not, I suppose. But that is all right." She paused, and took a breath. "I am having a sculpture made of him. Of Turukáno, for the gardens."

Aredhel made herself smile. "I cannot decide if that would please him or make him flush."

~.~

_Itarildë thinks of you more as a sister than an aunt, _Turgon had complained more than once. _You're giving her all kinds of bad habits. _

She'd told him that just because they were habits he didn't like didn't mean they were bad.

Idril was quieter now than she had been before, and smiled less, but she was still one of the brightest parts of Aredhel's life. They went riding together, hunting in the vale outside the city walls. Idril had been good with a toy bow – she was becoming almost as good a shot as Aredhel with a real one. She carried a dagger now, and where before her brow had carried more of her mother's smile, Aredhel could now see a sternness so like Turgon's it ached.

But Aredhel could still make her laugh.

"You don't think it's tempting fate?" Elenwe asked, approaching Aredhel where she was watching Idril shoot arrows at stationary targets. "Arming her, training her to fight…"

"I learned to shoot a bow when I was a girl," Aredhel said. "Would you say it's made me a warmongerer?"

"I am just…" Elenwe sighed. "I do not want the war to come here. I know it will – I know in many ways it already has. That we are not fighting does not mean we are not at war. Yet just the same…" Elenwe's eyes on Idril turned sad. "I only want her to be happy."

"Then we want the same," Aredhel said, and slung her arm around Elenwe's waist, pulling her in close. "She worries about you. She thinks you work too hard."

Elenwe gave her a bit of a look. "Is that what you talk about on those rides of yours?"

"That and the young men of Gondolin," she said, with a smile, and when Elenwe's eyebrows rose, she added, "though you needn't fret there. She doesn't seem to have found anyone of interest yet."

Idril shot her last arrow and turned. "What are you two chattering about over there?" she called, a smile on her face.

"Discussing your form," Aredhel called back. "You need to keep your elbow higher."

Idril made a face. "I made every shot, Ar-Feiniel. I would dare you to do better."

"You would," Aredhel said, "and you would lose the dare."

"Now, children," Elenwe said, though Aredhel could see her smiling out of the corner of her eye. "You've become skilled, Itarildë."

Idril unstrung the bow and crossed the field to remove her arrows. "Of course I have," she said, brightly. "I've had a skilled tutor." Aredhel made a face at Idril as she glanced over her shoulder, sticking out her tongue.

"The both of you are flatterers," she said, but fondly.

~.~

Beleriand burned.

The great furnaces belched fires, dragons spewed from the north, and the forces of the Noldor were driven back. Dorthonion was lost. Aegnor and Angrod were dead.

Her father Nolofinwë, High King of the Noldor, rode alone into the north and returned shattered and broken and dead.

Aredhel found a high point of the city and screamed until her voice gave out.

Elenwe and Idril found her curled up where she was sheltered from the wind. "Irisse," Elenwe said, and then stopped. Aredhel tried to pull herself together. Fingon, she thought of, all alone now, High King. She wondered…she wondered how…

"How could he do this?" she said, summoning her anger as a shield. "To all of us, how could he do something so – so _selfish, _so-"

"Itarildë," Elenwe said softly, and Idril heard her move away, after a moment, though with a soft, "I won't be far." After a moment Elenwe came and sat by her, shoulder to shoulder, and after a moment Aredhel turned and buried her face in Elenwe's shoulder, the tears coming all over again. Elenwe held her, stroked her hair.

When the storm blew itself out, Elenwe offered, "if you wish to go to your brother…Itarildë and I can manage."

For a moment, Aredhel considered it. But she took a deep breath, and lifted her head, wiping at her eyes. "I belong here," she said, quiet but firm. "I need to stay here. This is our city, and you are my family too."

"The Enemy will not win," Elenwe said, soft but firm. "His evil will not endure forever."

"And if it does?" Aredhel challenged. Her heart felt so heavy. Turgon, Argon, her father. Angrod, Aegnor. Which of her family would be next to fall?

"It will not," Elenwe said, and her fingers on Aredhel's face were gentle but her eyes were sure and fierce. "I know it."

~.~

_Will we fight? _

Such was the question on every lip. They had not had the chance in the Dagor Bragollach, even if to have done so would not have been suicide. But now…now. Maedhros, her cousin, was gathering an army to challenge Morgoth once more. She and Elenwe had not spoken of it, yet, but eyes were on them, and tongues were wagging.

_Will we arm and go to war? _

"Well?" Idril asked, at breakfast. Demanded, in truth, her back straight and her gaze direct, flicking back and forth between them.

Elenwe glanced at Aredhel, and then to her daughter. "You will have to be a touch clearer than that."

"Have you decided," Idril pressed. "To join the alliance, or not. The city is abuzz with rumor, but it is naught but rumor."

Aredhel pressed her lips together and focused on her plate. She could feel Elenwe glare at her for a moment, but she did answer. "We have not…come to an agreement."

Idril crossed her arms. "And what is the disagreement?"

"Who taught you to mince words like that?" Aredhel asked, curious, and now it was her niece who gave her a look.

"I taught myself. What is the disagreement?"

Aredhel set down her spoon and put her hands on the table. "It is our responsibility to go. They need our help. Our strength."

"Our strength," Elenwe said, and almost scoffed. "None of us have fought in centuries. What trained warriors live here are accustomed to simple guard duty and the occasional squabble, little more. Would you throw them into battle with the Enemy so unseasoned?"

"We have time _now _to train them," Aredhel insisted. "And we _should. _Our cousins – my _brother – _needs our help."

"We came here to be safe," Elenwe said, her voice sharpening a touch.

"But did we come here to hide from the world?" Aredhel demanded. Elenwe drew herself up.

"Is that what you think I am doing? Hiding?"

"Amil," Idril said, lowly. "Irisse has a point. We cannot-"

"Are you in such haste to throw yourself into battle, then?" Elenwe interrupted. Her eyes turned to Aredhel. "Or you, for that matter?"

"I am not keen on allowing others to continue doing so in my stead," Aredhel said, hearing the tight note in her voice and not quite able to curb it. "My brothers, my father-"

"Have _died_," Elenwe said, harshly. "Have all perished in this fight, and now you want me to let you do the same? You and however many thousands of brave Eldar will follow, and die? I _cannot-" _She stopped, and took a deep, sharp breath. "You are my _sister. _And you," to Idril, "are my daughter. And both of you wish me to…"

Idril's expression looked hurt. "Amil," she said, quietly. "I never said that I _wanted _this. I do not. I would sooner stay here and read and ride and shoot the bow at targets that do not bleed. But there is a wide world beyond our cliffs and walls, and how is the Enemy to be defeated if not by us?"

Elenwe looked down at her bowl, her mouth taut, her lovely eyebrows drawn together.

"If you do not agree," Aredhel said, "I will go alone to fight at my brother's side."

"Irissë!" Idril exclaimed, but Aredhel ignored her and began to stand. "You can't just…"

"You're right," Elenwe said, suddenly, so quiet Aredhel almost did not hear it. She stopped, turning back. "You are…you are both right, and I know it. Don't go, _meldonya._" Her head was still bowed, but the knitting of her eyebrows was gone. She looked tired, and resigned. "I know we cannot run from it. I only wish I could know that you…the two of you…would be safe."

"We will be," Aredhel said, after a glance at Idril. "And if you wish – you may stay here. The city will still need watching."

Elenwe's head came up, then, and her eyes were bright and angry. "You think you will leave me behind?" she said, sharply. Aredhel blinked, taken aback. "Turukáno thought he would leave me behind," Elenwe went on, "and I told him what I will tell you – _or loiconya._"

Aredhel stared at her, taken aback, and Idril let out a quiet burst of laughter after a moment. "You too?" she said, sounding almost rueful. "I remember he said much the same to me – and got much the same reply."

Aredhel had to smile, a little. "He didn't even try with me. Turukáno knew better than that."

It still hurt to think of him, but it was a duller ache, now. Elenwe took a deep breath and stood. "We will go, then," she said, and bowed her head. "Gondolin will go to war. Irissë – you will give the order to begin training tomorrow?"

"I will." Aredhel closed the distance between them and embraced Elenwe, holding her close. After a moment, Elenwe rested her hands on Aredhel's shoulders, pushing her gently back, holding her at arm's length.

"You know the bow," Elenwë said. Her expression was stubborn and stern, and for a moment Aredhel almost imagined she could see something of Turgon there. She paused, and set down her spoon.

"I do."

"Teach it to me," she said, that fire back in her eyes, and Aredhel wondered how she'd ever mistaken this woman for fragile. "I am a Queen of Gondolin, and I will not let my people fight without me." She met Aredhel's eyes. "I will not let my sister fight alone."

Aredhel leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then both cheeks. "_Massánië,_"she said, with a slightly crooked smile, "It would be my honor."

~.~

Aredhel found Elenwë sitting by one of the fountains, her eyes on a familiar statue. She breathed out quietly and stood still a moment before walking over to sit beside her.

"I wish they had sculpted him smiling," Elenwë said quietly. "I loved his smile."

"And you brought it out as few could." Aredhel scooted in close so she could lean her shoulder against her sister's, looking up at the carven face. The look there was familiar, stern and imposing, but it lacked the details. The warmth flickering in his eyes, the furrows between his eyebrows. It ached, somewhere deep in her chest, but it was no longer such an unpleasant feeling. Almost a healed wound.

Elenwë's hand found hers and squeezed. "You could as well. Even when you drove him to distraction. Perhaps particularly then." She smiled, though it was painfully sad to look at. Not the bright, radiant thing that their whole family had fallen in love with right alongside Turgon, but beautiful nonetheless. "I just wish…" she trailed off.

"I know." Aredhel cleared her throat, cautiously. "The guard was looking for the queen."

Elenwë let out a stuttering laugh. "One of them, you mean. I was never raised to be queen. I hardly know how to go about it. And I know even less of war."

"Neither of us were raised to be queens," Aredhel said, and felt her mouth twist wryly. "And yet here we are, and with a war to fight. They cannot win without us."

Elenwë looked once more up, toward the raised chin of the statue, and stood. Aredhel watched her draw herself up, square her shoulders. Making herself the lady, the leader. The Queen of Gondolin.

"Then let us go," she said, "and lead the Gondolindrim to victory."


End file.
